


Diablerie

by Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Community: sga_remix, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Prison, Remix, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-28
Updated: 2005-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4893238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Rachael%20Sabotini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney considers himself a practical man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diablerie

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Triptych](https://archiveofourown.org/works/46854) by [alyse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyse/pseuds/alyse). 



> Originally written for sga_remix challenge. Thank you to zoe rayne, chelle, and elynross for the beta

Rodney considers himself a practical man. He lives in a world of facts and figures; of deductions, not intuitions; of realities, not fantasies. Living in the Pegasus galaxy has simply reinforced that belief; he works best when he has all the facts. Even when all the facts say that things are very bleak.

At one point, he'd had dreams. He'd even go so far as to say he'd been a romantic. He had dreams of winning a Nobel prize, dreams of respect and fame, of the dignity that comes from world-wide acknowledgement of his genius. He had fantasies, and imagined his name bigger then Feynman, bigger than Einstein. He knew that they would have made a movie about him. 

But someone must have been listening when he thought that, someone with a demonic and twisted mind, and Rodney learned that fame and recognition sucked. Especially when it meant the Genii put a price on your head, friendly trade negotiations turned into an ambush, people you cared about died, and you were sold into slavery forever. 

Elizabeth is pressed against his back, and he can feel her silent gasps, the scent of sex masking the ever-present smell of mold and urine. He hears a small groan, one tightly controlled and almost as silent as Elizabeth, but deeper and more resonant: John. 

They sleep on the floor of some underground bunker, everything they had combined into one pile underneath them. The cell is cold and the blankets are thin, and this was the only way to keep warm. They don’t have the luxury of space; they huddle together, even though they feel each other’s moves at night, and hear each other’s nightmares. And now, John and Elizabeth are fucking, he's sure of it. Silently fucking, pressing up against Rodney on the narrow pallet they share with him on the floor of their cell. 

Rodney inches away from them. Pressed against the wall, he feels like laughing at the same time the chill from the cell wall freezes into a hard knot in his stomach. Of course they're silent. The Genii guards wait for them to make noise, for there to be a reason to come in and slam John against the wall or strike Elizabeth across the face. They may be forbidden to touch Rodney, but the others are fair game. 

Rodney closes his eyes tighter, trying to deny what he hears and what he feels; he should let them have this moment together. It's only fair he listen to them now when they embrace one another, rather than when they are screaming in pain. It's only fair that he be the one hurting for once. 

It's something he won't force them to see. 

There's a slight rustle of cloth, and Rodney can feel John's hand slide up under the back of Elizabeth's shirt, then slide down again to cup her ass. 

The room is cold and dim, but Rodney knows if he opens his eyes, he could see them, see John with his cock out, maybe with Elizabeth's hand on it. Maybe he would be touching her breasts, biting her nipples. In his mind, it's like the best porn he's ever seen, and he aches with want; his cock is hard and he cannot move to give himself comfort, not if he wants them to think he is asleep. 

Elizabeth needs this, he knows, and John needs it too. Both Rodney and John have seen her, seen the way she flinches from the guards, the way she has gone silent and crawled into herself. The Genii have taken her defiance and stripped it from her, leaving her nothing of her former dignity. The guards call her a whore — Rodney's whore, not John's — and laugh while he works, talking about her tits and her ass, and how they'd like to fuck her. 

He knows they are no idle boasts. 

They let her stay with him because they think they are lovers, and she is a lever they can use against him. They didn't know that the tie between them was stronger than sex. She was the one who brought him into this project, who believed in him, and selected him for her chief scientist when so many others thought he was nothing but a joke. She let him be who he was and never tried to change that, no matter what the top brass said; he remembers her showing him the personnel file, marked 'difficult to work with', along with many other things. 

The same marks as he saw in John's file, and Elizabeth chose him as well. He swallows as he listens to them, listens to John hands sliding across her flesh. Elizabeth may have chosen him, but John expected him to be more than just a mind encased in a fleshy box, good for theory and lab work and nothing else. Elizabeth chose him, but John believes in him, and that is what has helped Rodney survive. They are knit together in ways that Rodney avoids thinking about, knowing it is pointless. 

A whisper of breath captures his thoughts; he doesn't know which of them made it, and it doesn't matter. He has learned to lie. He begs for John's life, saying he needs John to assist him, to do the math. He begs for Elizabeth's life, saying they are lovers. His silence is only one lie more. 

Rodney is a practical man, and dignity is a luxury he can't afford. He takes the slurs of the guards in stride and tries to make the best of the situation, like setting up a screen around their toilet so they can piss without being observed, or turning away as John or Elizabeth hand-washes their clothes. He tries to create a sense of privacy for her — for them all really — a safe-haven. 

It is an illusion the guards are happy to strip away. 

His dreams are scaled back to hopes, and then to practicalities. His work on the Genii's nuclear program gives them food twice a day, blankets for their bed, and on occasion even soap to wash with. And if he forgets how generous the guards are, they are quite willing to remind him, using Elizabeth and John as examples. 

Rodney knows realities, and he knows that in this one, he can protect no one, but he has to try anyway. Living as a prisoner of the Genii must have made him a little crazy; Rodney's not sure which of them he wants more. Elizabeth chose him and John believes in him and Rodney will do whatever he needs to make sure that they survive, even when it means he is the odd man out. 

The knowledge that John and Elizabeth are fucking travels straight from his brain to his groin, and Rodney wishes he could do something about it. Wet sounds travel though him, curling his toes; his need to jerk off wrenching at him; Elizabeth shifts, and her leg presses against his thigh, then she moans faintly, and he realizes he can tell that John is sliding his fingers into her. 

The guards take delight in showing John that he can't protect anyone, of beating Elizabeth in front of him. It‘s second nature for John to step in, to try and draw their blows onto himself but it seldom works — usually they beat her more when he tries to interfere. And of course they beat him if Rodney makes mistakes — another thing John has no control over. John and Elizabeth are the ones with the bruises and the scars; the only bruises Rodney has are the ones from holding onto himself when he is made to watch. 

Elizabeth arches hard against him, and Rodney knows she must have come. He feels dizzy and light-headed, like he can't get enough air to breathe; he realizes he is holding his breath. He tries to even his breathing out again, make it seem like he is asleep; he wonders if John will fuck her, and god, isn’t that a thought, if John would push himself into her, with the guards outside the door and while Rodney supposedly slept. He wants to see them, wishes he could open his eyes and watch, but he's trying to be good. John moans softly, and Rodney's cock twitches; it's good to hear his voice. 

Lately they go days without really speaking to one another. John is almost always silent now; he only speaks or cries out when he is beaten, or to draw the guard's attention. He says nothing in the lab while he works, even if Rodney yells. There are no more casual conversations about bad movies or TV, no more discussions about hockey and football; Elizabeth can't get him to talk either, and the silence is smothering them all. Rodney worries that John's dying — if not from the beatings and the pain, then the cold and the isolation — and he misses the sound of John's voice. 

The Genii say he has a wonderful life: A private room with his whore and his whipping boy, meals twice a day, and showers once a week. He's practically coddled with all of the luxuries they provide. 

There's the slight sound of metal sliding against metal, and Rodney feels John pull Elizabeth towards him, trying to protect her, as always. Anger flashes through him and fear — fear that John will find a way to get the guards to beat him to death, leaving both him and Elizabeth alone. The bang-click-thunk of the hatch opening, and the slight breeze as warmer air spills into the room. Rodney can feel the eyes of the guard on all of them, assessing their still forms. 

In his mind's eye, Rodney assesses the scene as well, and feels his stomach drop: John is closer to Elizabeth than he is, their clothes in disarray; it is impossible for the guard not to notice something, not the way that Rodney imagines them looking. So he rolls over, knowing his movement will draw the guard's eye, and wraps himself around Elizabeth, pressing into the warmth of her skin. She smells of sweat and sex, and god, he wants her. Don't move, don't move, don't move, he chants to himself; let the distraction work, let him look like Elizabeth's lover. 

There is the sound of the hatch closing, and he relaxes slightly, but god, Elizabeth feels good in his arms. He can't help himself, he presses his erection against her, enjoying her warmth. He had told himself he could let them have this, but he knows it is a lie. 

Rodney opens his eyes. John is looking at him, his pupils large and black in the dim light, and Rodney's not sure what’s on his own face. He watches as John pulls his hand out of Elizabeth's pants, holds his fingers up; Rodney can see that they are sticky and wet even in the dim light. 

His heart is pounding as his gaze locks with John's, a razor-sharp intensity building between them as John slowly extends his hand. Rodney had thought they wanted to keep this just between the two of them, yet John's first move is to include him. The idea breaks him. God, he wants this. He wants it so bad, he's shaking, and he knows it's not because of low blood sugar. 

He presses his body hard against Elizabeth's warmth, and takes John's fingers into his mouth. His gaze is locked with John's while his mouth is filled with the taste of Elizabeth. God, he hasn't...he can't...God. He's coming apart, his mind giving up at last. All he is becomes want, becomes need. Becomes John's fingers in his mouth — fucking his mouth — and the taste of Elizabeth shared between them. 

He licks and sucks on John's fingers, sliding his tongue between them, over the pads and down to the webbing between John's fingers. A strange kind of sound builds up within his chest, part howl, part scream, part frantic need, but he keeps it locked deep in his chest so it cannot escape. 

As Rodney licks, John pulls in close, trapping Elizabeth between them; his gaze never leaves Rodney's. Rodney slows as John half-leans over her, sliding over her and down between them so he can brush the corner of Rodney's lips with his tongue. 

Rodney's so hard it's all he can do to hold on. They kiss hard and passionate, devouring each other. Rodney feels Elizabeth go silent, descending into herself once again. Wildly, he pulls away from John's lips to grab at her, pull her back to them; his touch brings some more light into her eyes, and she looks a little more present. She needs physical contact, so Rodney takes her hand and pulls it around so it presses up against John's groin, letting her feel the hardness there; he drinks John's near-silent moans as she runs her hands against the front of John's pants, and Elizabeth is back. 

Rodney's hand momentarily tangles with hers as he unbuttons John, allowing Elizabeth to slide her hand inside and stroke the length of him. Rodney can't stop kissing John. John's mouth tastes stale — part of his mind registers the taste and scent as ketones — and Rodney can feel his ribs when he strokes John's sides, feel the dent of bone when he presses John's hip. John was never a large man, and both he and Elizabeth have lost enough weight that it shows, their eyes larger, their cheekbones sharper than before. 

He can't lose them, not Elizabeth, not John. Desperation fuels his hunger, and he needs to feel, taste, devour more than just John's lips and mouth. He can feel the tension in John under his hands as they roam over his arms and chest and thighs; his hand skims across Elizabeth's as she slides up and down John's cock. 

John's close, so close, Rodney can feel it; he moves lower, licking the head of John's cock as Elizabeth fists him, tasting the salty liquid there. He flicks his tongue over her fingers, tasting them both, and it's good, so good. She glides her hand away, and Rodney is left with John's gorgeous cock, all swollen and hard and weeping. He wraps his hand around it and slides his mouth over the head; he can feel John's hips jerk toward him as he envelopes John's cock. 

There are other quiet noises now — John and Elizabeth kissing, Rodney sucking and licking John's cock — the sound of flesh on flesh. Rodney tries to go slow, tries to make it last. Elizabeth's hand brushes his head as he slides down the length of John's shaft, and he can feel her trembling. 

He can feel John tremble too. 

John crowds into them both, his hips jerking back and forth as he tries to get deeper into Rodney's mouth; Rodney wraps his hand around John’s cock and slides it up, up, and up, then down along with his mouth, letting everything get wet and slick and hard. His mouth is sensitive to the feel of John's skin, and everything tingles, bright and warm, where they touch. 

He can feel John tense, and Rodney slides his mouth down as far as he can, drinking in everything about John: his scent, his taste, the feel of the wiry hair at the base of his cock. The salty bitterness of his come. 

John's still thrusting as the aftershocks take him, but Rodney doesn't mind. He slips his hands into his pants, but John lays a hand on his arm, his message clear: no. John pulls Rodney up to their level, and turns him to face Elizabeth, and then Rodney's kissing her, the taste of John's come mixing with her lips, and Rodney's so hard his balls ache with the need to come. 

He can feel John's hands on her, on him, twisting them both. Elizabeth's lips are soft, but not smooth; her mouth warm and wet. He presses himself hard against her, rubbing himself, and she arches back her head. Rodney takes advantage of that movement to nip at her neck and slide his hands under her shirt, running his hands over the curve of her breasts, and rolling her nipples between his fingers. She feels so damn good. 

There's the soft rustle of fabric and John's hands tug at his wrist, guiding his hands down to Elizabeth's waist. He's unfastened her pants and has them shoved down to her thighs, and Rodney can smell just how wet she is. It does something to him, and all he can really think about is fucking her, of sliding deep within her warmth. 

John turns her and kisses her as Rodney unbuttons his pants and gets his cock out, then eases into her from behind. God, she is so wet and slick and warm. He bites down a little on the back of her neck as he does, afraid if he doesn't, he'll start slamming into her without giving her a chance to adjust. He can feel his own hands tremble as he touches her, gripping her thighs, pressing them forward so she curls hard against John — between them, sharing them. Rodney catches John's eye as he slides slowly into her and pulls back out, watching them kiss as John watches him fuck. Elizabeth giving to both. 

It's more intense than anything he has experienced in his life. His Elizabeth. His John. All of them. Fucking. Together. He can't hold back anymore, thrusting fast and hard into Elizabeth, John taking both of their weight. He can hear the tiny noises she makes before John swallows them; can feel her shudder as she comes in their arms, Rodney's cock thick inside her. 

When John's hand brushes his where he grips Elizabeth's hip, Rodney feels his balls tighten and he just can't stop and he has to come, he has to come **now**. John presses his hand over Rodney's mouth, reminding him of the need for silence, before letting it rest on Elizabeth's hip. Rodney feels his throat lock as he shudders, not a sound escaping; he can feel the liquid pulsing out of him, his head pressed against the back of Elizabeth's neck, John's hand now covering his own. 

He has to stay there a moment, make his thighs and knees relax, take his own weight. He eases out of Elizabeth as gently as he can, knowing how swollen she must be. She scrambles out of the bed as soon as he's out, heading straight for the wash area. 

Rodney wishes he could join her, afraid of what might be written on his face. Instead, he is a practical man, so he just turns his head away, not wanting John to see him. 

Placing his fingers under Rodney's chin, John gently guides his head back around, so John can look at him. Rodney swallows, looking at John's shadowed face. There's no bright light, no smile, no joy there; both of them know that this won't make it any easier. 

Yet it is as close to joy as they can get in this place, and Rodney is willing to accept that. Then John kisses him softly, the barest brush of lips, and Rodney can almost taste his fear: fear for them, for Rodney and Elizabeth, and his desperation to keep them alive. 

He wraps himself around John as John pulls the covers over them; they cuddle and stroke each other — John caresses his arm while Rodney threads his fingers through John's hair — slowing down only as sleep begins to overtake them. Padding back from the wash area, Elizabeth stills, then crawls in between them under the blanket; they pull her down to join them, and Rodney tucks in close, head against her neck, arm around her so that his palm rests against John's solid thigh, for once feeling warm. 

He hopes he never has to choose.


End file.
